Mrs. Chatham was home and recuperating, her children and husband rallying around her more than ever. Brilliant or Catastrophic did not win the showcase—apparently, the judges were more fans of screaming than Irv—but had attracted the interest of a local studio owner, who was recording a real demo in exchange for Eric doing grunt work for him. With an actual music-related job, his ego was bigger than ever, something I hadn’t even thought possible.
Layla, however, clearly saw things differently, or so I’d realized one afternoon at the hospital two days after the showcase. I’d had my usual provisions—fries, magazines, YumYums—and come into the room expecting to find her in the customary spot, the recliner next to her mom’s bed. She was there, but not alone. Eric was lying back, stretched out, with her curled up tight against him, her arms around his neck. I’d stepped back, surprised, and didn’t mention it when we met a few minutes later in the hallway. A couple of weeks later, when they officially announced they were a couple, I made it a point to act surprised.
As for me and Mac, we were solid, helped by the fact that my mom had eased her grip on my schedule. I didn’t have total free reign—this was Julie Stanford, after all—but we’d worked out a compromise. I had my lunches free, but still worked three days a week at Kiger with Jenn. It kept us in contact, and often Meredith joined us for lunch as well (it went unsaid that Margaret, while still in the picture, was not invited). Layla and I had at least one afternoon a week to hit SuperThrift and to seek out great fries when I wasn’t teaching her to drive, a process that was both terrifying and hilarious, often at the same time. Whatever time remained, I was with Mac, either at his house, Seaside, or in the truck, running deliveries. My pizza whispering continued to be spot-on, if I did say so myself. Mr. Chatham said I had a knack for the business. I’d honestly never been more flattered.
After I’d decided not to press charges against Ames, his lawyer had stopped contacting my father about his injuries, and we heard nothing else from either of them. My brother, however, was now calling me regularly on my phone, so we could talk away from my house and parents. We had a lot to cover, with what had happened with Ames and everything else, and sometimes the pauses and silences felt heavy enough to break me. When all else failed, we had Big New York to fall back on. I’d even talked him around to Team Ayre, or close to it. Progress.
Peyton had been increasingly in touch with my parents, too, calling more regularly. He’d started running on the track every day during the time he was allowed outside, and he was working on his speed, reading everything he could get his hands on about training. My mom, who had run cross-country in college, was somewhat of an expert, and with this new topic came a new, hesitant phase of their relationship. Eventually, Peyton asked her to come to visit. At first, hearing this, I’d been apprehensive, wondering if we’d go back down the same path where her involvement became more like an obsession. But my mother surprised me. She did visit, and enjoyed the calls, especially the running discussions. But she gave Peyton the space he needed and let him come to her once in a while, instead of chasing him down.
It helped that she’d found a new cause to busy herself with. After that night at U General, she’d returned to visit with Mrs. Chatham. They ended up talking about insurance issues, as well as the lack of outreach at U General for patients and their families. What began as her offering to meet with some administrators on the Chathams’ behalf to do a little fact-finding had, over the ensuing weeks, led not only to her volunteering in patient relations, but to the prospect of a paid position. She claimed to still be mulling it over, that she was too busy with everything else, but my dad and I knew she’d eventually agree. My mom loved a worthy cause, and at U General, she’d never again have a shortage of them.
Peyton had ten more months at Lincoln, his sentence having been cut down a bit due to good behavior. Once released, he’d move to a halfway house for six weeks, where he’d be expected to find a job and housing while also training for his first 10K. For all her progress, I could tell it was making my mom nuts not to help with this, and more than once I’d walked up on her computer to find rental info or classifieds pulled up on the screen. Old habits are hard to break. But I knew she was trying.